Ghost of Forgiveness
by believeindreamers
Summary: This is my opinion of what happened to Harry, after the war. Read at your own risk. And I love reviews . . . * hint, hint *


  
  
  
What am I supposed to do   
With all these blues   
Haunting me, everywhere, no matter what I do   
Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow   
I can't let go   
When will this night be over   
  
* * * *  
  
Harry Potter glanced up at the ghost and sighed. She watched him with tearful eyes, and he looked away, unable to bear the compassion in her gaze. He didn't want forgiveness, hers least of all.  
  
"Why won't you just leave?" he demanded.   
  
"If I did, what would it change?" Ginny Weasley asked softly, and he shrugged.  
  
"Nothing. But your presence here isn't helping, and you know that."  
  
"Why can't you let it go, Harry? You did what you thought was right. I've forgiven you, so why can't you forgive yourself and move on? You won your war, Harry."  
  
"If I'd really won, you would still be alive!" Harry hissed  
.   
"I was a pureblood, Harry. You had no way of knowing. Voldemort was evil, and you had no choice. This world was never big enough for the both of you."  
  
"Just . . just go. Please."  
  
"As you wish. But I will be back, and I'm right here if you need me." When he did not respond, she drifted away, disappearing through the wall behind her.  
  
Harry leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, the memories flooding over him with startling clarity. He'd had a choice, she was wrong about that. Yes, he'd saved the wizarding world from certain disaster, but . . .  
  
"But what's the good of that?" he asked of the silence. With no answer forthcoming, he said the words that had, since the war, become his favorite phrase: "Why me? Of all the people in the world, why was I chosen?"   
  
As he continued speaking, occasionally lapsing into the language of serpents, Parseltongue, he was entirely unaware of the ghost who listened to his words with tears running down her cheeks.  
  
* * * *  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you   
And baby there's a name for what you put me through   
It isn't love, it's robbery   
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me   
* * * *  
  
He woke screaming.  
  
Not that such a thing was terribly unusual, especially on those occasions when he fell asleep thinking of Voldemort, and the war. But each time was as frightening as the first, and as he scrambled out of bed in an out-of-control panic, he was just as certain as ever that his doom was near, at Voldemort's hands.  
  
Though, as reality gradually took over and his breathing slowed, he admitted that it was not his death he dreamed of, but hers.  
  
Yes, it was Ginny's face that haunted his nightmares, Ginny who had driven him to the brink of insanity. Not her fault, of course. No one's fault but his. If he had acted sooner, if he had only realized what Voldemort's true plan had been . . . And as always, the thought brought nothing but a fresh wave of guilt.   
  
How could he ever have imagined that she had become a Death Eater? Why had he not thought of the Imperius Curse? Certainly, after weeks of training by himself and Dumbledore, she had proved perfectly capable of throwing off their curses, but Voldemort had more experience with the Imperius Curse than Harry had ever dreamed of.   
  
And what made it so much worse was that he had known she would become a target, and had been unable to prevent it. Logic insisted that he had done all he could; it was impossible for him to be at her side every minute of the day. Even if he had stayed with her, what would have prevented Voldemort from capturing him as well? He was only human, after all, and as mortal as anyone.   
  
Yet his powers were incredible, beyond even Dumbledore's; could he not have done something more to protect her? But he had not, and Voldemort had found the opportunity he needed to place her under the Imperius Curse. And he, Harry, had honestly believed that Ginny could have become a Death Eater.  
  
He'd made his excuses, of course. He'd been under too much pressure, he hadn't had enough time to consider all the possibilities. He hadn't killed her, after all; was it his fault one of his aurors had taken the initiative?   
  
Yes, in his mind, it had been his fault. He had made it very clear that he saw her as an enemy, and Remus Lupin had known that even as he said the curse. Harry didn't blame Remus for any of this, naturally; Lupin and Ginny had been dueling, and he simply hadn't had much of a choice on the matter.  
  
But the deed had been done, and that was that, Harry decided. So why wasn't it that simple?  
  
* * * *  
Seen a lot of broken hearts go sailing by   
Phantom ships, lost at sea   
And one of them is mine   
Raising my glass, I sing a toast to the midnight sky   
I wonder why   
The stars don't seem to guide me   
* * * *  
  
Harry strode into the kitchen, glancing around the room as he entered. It fairly sparkled, a clear acknowledgment of Dobby's adoration for his young master. Harry had Dobby and a few other house elves to tend to the upkeep of the place, and it appeared he'd chosen well.   
  
He grinned as his gaze came across the freshly poured glass of wine on the table, but his expression quickly soured. Even during the war, he'd kept his distance from the various pubs he encountered in his line of work - he had enough problems without being an alcoholic.   
  
But his willpower had quickly gone downhill after Ginny's death, he supposed, and although to his knowledge he'd never actually gotten drunk, it had taken more spells than he would've liked to sober him up. These days, he was keeping a very close watch on his habits; he hated the feeling that he was not completely in control of his own actions.  
  
He picked up the glass in one smooth motion as he walked past the table out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him as a tacit sign that he wished to be left alone. He leaned on the iron railing, looking up at the stars, and wondering how life had come to this.   
  
"I wonder where Ron is now?" he said into the stillness. Ron and Hermione had both survived the war in a way he never had. They were the perfect warriors: they'd fought their war, won it, and gone on with their lives. He too had survived the war, of course, but in a purely physical sense, his body almost entirely unmarked while his mind still reeled from the horrific things he'd seen.   
  
Smiling faintly, he set the glass on the railing and pulled up his sleeve, regarding the scar on his left arm with a rather rueful expression. Madam Pomphrey had insisted on healing his wounds herself, and now a thin white line from wrist to elbow was all that remained of the bone-deep gash that had almost killed him - if not for Hermione's timely intervention, he might have bled to death on the battlefield that had already claimed the life of his mortal enemy.   
  
Challenging Voldemort to a swordfight had been one of the least sensible things he'd ever done, he admitted that now: the elder wizard was more experienced than he in nearly every type of duel known to man. But he had won, and for him, that had been enough. At least, until he'd learned of Ginny's death. And after that, nothing really seemed to matter all that much.   
  
* * * *  
The ghost of you and me   
When will it set me free   
I hear the voices call   
Following footsteps down the hall   
Trying to save what's left of my heart and soul  
* * * *  
  
"Is Harry home?" A voice, a girl's voice, snapped him out of his reverie.  
  
"He is not to be disturbed, Ms. Hermione, ma'am," came Dobby's anxious voice.   
  
"But I must see him, Dobby. It's for his own good, you know," she pleaded.  
  
"For my own good?" Harry inquired, and she glanced over at him. He'd slipped soundlessly through the door to the kitchen and now, lost for words, was attempting to suppress his mixed reactions to her presence.   
  
On the one hand, he hadn't seen her in almost three years and was rather pleased that she'd come; on the other, he was certain she would bring up the subject which had eventually driven him to this secluded spot. Ginny.   
  
"Make yourself at home," he sighed, when it became apparent that she wasn't leaving.   
  
"I'll do that," she said with a grin, following close behind him as he led the way into the living room.   
  
"Nice place," she commented, sitting down on the couch. Harry chose the farthest chair from her and sat down, though he was sure she'd notice that. Maybe he wanted her to.  
  
"For a mansion, it's amazingly difficult to find," she said sweetly, but her eyes, cool and calculating, did not match her voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was Unplottable. Just like Hogwarts."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to think that all the power I poured into those spells had been useless."  
  
"I wasn't aware that you knew how to do spells of that sort. You did them all yourself, all at once?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You were taking an awful risk. Even you would've been left nearly powerless for days, don't tell me you weren't."  
  
"Then I won't," he replied. "I've wondered, you know, what it would be like, being a Muggle. After I did the spells, I found out."  
  
"There are still Death Eaters out there, Harry."  
  
"So what? If you couldn't find me, they wouldn't be able to either."  
  
"There's nothing they'd like better than to kill you."  
  
"And the feeling is mutual."  
  
"Exactly what I came to talk about. We want you back, Harry. The entire wizarding world is concerned. Their hero's disappeared, and they want him back."  
  
"Then tell them to go look for Ron, or Dumbledore, or Sirius, or anyone but me." His voice faltered as he recited the names. It'd been so long since he'd spoken to any of them; he knew they had to be worried.  
  
"What is this really about?" he said harshly.  
  
"We're worried, Harry. You won the war almost single-handedly, defeated Voldemort, and then disappeared in the middle of the night without a word to anyone. Your bank vault was untouched, your things were still in your room. No one had seen you leave. In fact, the only thing you took with you was that black leather jacket of yours, as far as we could tell. And that's when we noticed something."  
  
"And what was that?"   
  
"Sirius's motorcycle, the Shadow, was reported missing the same day you were. We put two and two together." She leaned forward in her chair, her blue eyes searching his green ones. "But I went a step further. Ron and Sirius were positive that you'd never go back to life as a Muggle. I thought otherwise. I was right.  
  
"I found a receipt in your room, Harry. Muggle clothes, all of it. From there, it didn't take me long to realize that you were planning on fading into the common Muggle crowds and simply vanishing. But after that, I was stuck. I didn't have a clue where you'd gone."  
  
"Where'd you look first, 'Mione?" he inquired, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
"London, first. A few of the big cities in England. But the place held too many memories for you, didn't it?"  
  
"Yeah. I stayed in London for a month or so, and then, according to you, where did I go next?"  
  
"Los Angeles, in the United States, as far as I could tell."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"And then New York City. You stayed there for a few months, hung around with the gangs, all of whom were suitably impressed with the way you fight, but you made too many enemies there, and left again. Where'd you learn to fight like that, Harry?"  
  
"Here and there. Magic helps, of course. So does having a crazed psychopath after you for the majority of your life."  
  
"You always did stay in shape, didn't you?"  
  
"Always. Where did I go from there?"  
  
"Canada. Montreal, to be exact."  
  
"It was Ontario, in the beginning. I stayed there for a month before heading to Montreal."  
  
"All right. You learned French while you were there?"  
  
"I was bored. So sue me."  
  
"I'll get around to that, I assure you. You stayed there for a while, then to California?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why didn't you stay in Canada, Harry?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just one of those people who's born to roam. Does it matter, now?"  
  
"Not really. According to what I've found, you arrived in Sacramento six months ago. You bought this place two weeks after getting here. Where'd you find Dobby?"  
  
"I went back to Hogwarts. I have an invisibility cloak, remember that. No one saw me. Dobby and few friends of his went back to my place by way of a portkey. I stayed a few weeks, keeping a close eye on how the search for me was going, and when it didn't appear they were even close, I went back to California."  
  
"You left the letter for Ron personally, didn't you?"  
  
"Right again. He wasn't home, so there wasn't any real risk of getting caught. And, if you didn't know, I saw you while I was there."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"You were talking to Sirius."  
  
"You could have told him you were all right. He was miserable, thinking something had happened to you."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You made a lot of people very unhappy, Harry."  
  
"They'll get over it."  
  
"No, they won't," she said with surprisingly ferocity. "You have to go back, Harry. They miss you. We miss you. Heck, the entire wizarding world is still fretting over you!"  
  
"I don't have to do anything. I could always whip you in a fair fight."  
  
"Are you threatening me?"  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
"If you want to put it that way . . . Yes, you do."  
  
"You don't understand what it's been like for me, Hermione."  
  
"No, I don't, but I do know what your disappearance has done to Remus. He swears that you left because of him, because of Ginny."  
  
"I don't blame him for any of this, he should know better than that."  
  
"He should, but he doesn't. Come home, Harry."  
  
"I agree, Harry," said a soft voice from the doorway. "You have to go home."   
  
Hermione looking troubled as she stared at the ghost floating there, but Harry didn't seem at all perturbed. "Hello, Ginny," was all he said.  
  
"She's here?"   
  
"Where else? And no, I'm not going back to England, no matter what either of you say."  
  
"I oughta hex you, just for being plain stupid!" Hermione declared, and he smiled.  
  
"I agree, you should. But it's against your principles to curse an unarmed man."   
She frowned, appearing to consider that, and he made his move.   
  
In one smooth motion, he was out of the chair and moving toward the door before she realized what he was doing. He disappeared out the door, and she stood up and started after him. But even as she rose, she felt someone come up behind her, and she turned, pulling out her wand.   
  
Yet it was far too late for that. She realized too late that he had moved with her, and was standing directly behind her. His hand closed over her wrist, pulling her arm up behind her, making any attempt at a curse useless. His other hand was on her throat, tilting her head back, and she let out a whimper of pure terror - his strength shocked her.   
  
"Let me go!" she snapped, hoping she sounded braver than she felt, and to her surprise, her attacker instantly released her and stepped back. Even as she whirled to face him, she heard him laughing.  
  
"Harry!" The genuine fear in her voice immediately put an end to his fun, and his smile faded as he regarded her in mild confusion.  
  
"Hermione, I didn't mean to -"  
  
"Scare me to death?" she finished. "You couldn't have come around the house that fast. To be sure, it is your house, but there's no way. And if I'd fought, you could have really hurt me. You're strong enough to do some serious harm if you wanted to."  
"And you think I would?" She refused to look at him, and he backed away from her, his emerald eyes wide with amazement, and horror.  
  
"You're serious, aren't you?" he murmured. "You honestly think I could . . . My God, Hermione, I thought you knew me."  
  
"I didn't meant to sound so accusing," she pleaded. "But, especially after the war, it's . . it's scary. And if you must know, I didn't think it was you."  
  
"You thought there was someone in the house, besides us," he said slowly, suddenly understanding why she'd been so afraid. "I didn't meant to give you that impression, 'Mione. I'm so sorry."  
  
"I know you didn't mean it. Even so, Harry, think before you do these things!"  
  
"I'll keep that in mind. And here I was thinking that you'd put Voldemort and all that behind you for good."  
  
"I wish I could. I've tried. I can't."  
  
"I suppose that goes for both of us," he said wryly. "Oh, and if you're wondering, I grabbed my wand off the table in the kitchen and apparated back in here, intending to scare you a bit. It seems I did too good a job, though, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yeah, it does." She hesitated a moment, unwilling to ruin the moment, but knowing this might be her last chance. This handsome, laughing man before her was the Harry she knew, and she dared to hope that he might consider her suggestion reasonably this time. If not, then she certainly wasn't any worse off than before.  
  
"Harry, I have to go, soon. Come with me. Please."   
  
"Hermione, I've been away from years. To all practical purposes, I'm a Muggle now."  
  
"You've used magic, you know magic. You'd never give it up, Harry; I don't know how many times I've heard you say that magic is your life. If it's the thought of what everyone's reactions will be, trust me, they'll be ecstatic. Harry, please."  
  
"Is it really so important to you?"  
  
"Would I be out here if it wasn't?"  
  
"No," he admitted. "Look, I'll . . I'll think about it, all right? That's all I can promise you right now."  
  
"Okay. See you later, Harry," she whispered, and promptly vanished.   
  
* * * *  
Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow   
I can't let go   
When will this night be over   
* * * *  
  
"Are you leaving, Mr. Potter, sir?" Dobby asked, and Harry turned to him, grinning.  
  
"I'd forgotten how sharp a house elf's hearing is. And as for my leaving, I'm not sure yet. Why?"  
  
"Because it would be good for you to see your friends, in Dobby's opinion, sir."  
  
"Hermione and her big mouth," he grumbled. "Sheesh. Yes, Dobby, I'll go, if only to convice her that I'm still quite sane."  
  
"When, sir?"  
  
"In an hour or so, I suppose. After all, there's no time like the present, is there? And no, Dobby, there's no need for you to pack anything for me. I'm perfectly capable of apparating back whenever I need something from home."  
  
"Yes sir." The house elf immediately went off to oversee something else in the house, and Harry searched his memory for a relatively safe place in Hogsmeade - he had to have a specific destination in mind when he apparated, after all. Hogwarts was out of the question, even if he could succeed in breaking the anti-apparition wards, and he wasn't exactly certain where Hermione was staying. Which left exactly one place: the Burrow.  
  
Not the best place in the world, with Mrs. Weasley about, but he'd always considered them the family he'd never had, and they could probably tell him where Hermione was.   
  
"No use being a coward," he said under his breath. "Can't exactly put this off forever, anyway." With a flick of his wand, he disappeared once more.  
  
Leaving a very frustrated Lucius Malfoy standing on the porch, with no choice but to return to England. His prey was only human, and in the end, he would let his guard down. And when he did, they would be waiting.  
  
  



End file.
